


Rounds

by shockcity (pcp)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo knows all, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pcp/pseuds/shockcity
Summary: Fili, Kili and Gimli are up to no good.





	Rounds

“I saw those barrels come in,” Kili told Gimli, flush with excitement. “They were on last week’s wagons, and they’ve not been unloaded yet, Gimmers. They’ve probably been forgotten!”

Gimli ran a hand down his beard skeptically. “There’s Spring Rites two weeks from now. Mightn’t the barrels be for that?”

“Two weeks, though!” Kili cried. “That’s too long. They’ll have gone off by then.” 

Fili, who had remained silent during the unveiling of Kili’s plan, now felt the need to say, “I don’t think ale goes off, Kee.”

“That’s right. It just gets better,” Gimli agreed.

“No, that’s wine,” he said. “Look–”

Kili hustled them to a different shadowy alcove, seeing as the guards were making rounds down their hallway, and Kili was wary of Dwalin, who was never too far from the royal wing. Though they had quite a lot of freedom in Erebor, Fili and Kili (and to a lesser extent, Gimli) were always under close scrutiny due to their being Durins. This made mischief hard to accomplish, and all the more satisfying when they were actually successful.

Which was why Kili was so insistent now.

“They’ve left sixteen barrels of gorgeous Stonehelm beer in a crummy old pantry! We can’t let that stand! It’s a matter of family honour.”

Gimli nodded, apparently won over, but Fili only looked amused. “You’re really laying it on thick,” he said. “What do we need sixteen barrels of beer for?”

Kili lit up. “We’re going to drink it.”

“What? All of it?” Fili choked.

“No, maybe not,” his brother reassured him, which was to say he did not reassure anyone at all. “But…most of it, probably. We’re going to keep it for ourselves. Our own private stash.”

“Count me in,” Gimli said.

“Gloin still cutting you off at two?” Fili asked sympathetically.

His cousin nodded glumly. “Gár wins ale rounds every season. I’ve told him on no account should he expect to win forever! But I’ll need to practice to beat him.”

“There you go!” Kili cried gleefully. “We’ll need all sixteen for that! And like you said, Spring Rites are two weeks away, and you know Gár will be looking to win the rounds again. We’d better make up for lost time.”

Both were convinced of the necessity of it now, and looked to Fili for the final say. Fili was not dumb enough to think they would _not_ steal the ale if he declined to take part, but there was less of a chance of them getting into horrendous trouble if at least one of them had some sense… that Fili was actually the more sensible one was still up for debate.

“Alright,” he agreed, and Kili pumped his fist in the air. “But only if we think it through properly!”

“It’ll be easy,” said his brother. “As I’ve already said, Bom’s in charge of that pantry, and he won’t think anything of us dropping in for a chat. We’ll just grab the keys when he’s not looking and come back before the morning cooks show up, then we’ll roll them into Gimli’s rooms.”

Gimli frowned. “But that’s three halls away!”

“We’ll go fast and gather momentum. They’ll practically move themselves.”

“But there’s stairs!”

Kili grinned. “I’ve got rope and my wits.” He tapped his temple. “We’ll be fine, Gimmers.”

This all sounded very ridiculous, but Fili had resigned himself to being an accessory, and was rather used to feeling regretful, anyway. “You’re forgetting one extremely important thing, brother,” Fili did have to say.

Because never mind all the other potential disasters– their success truly hinged on the following: “How are we ever going to pull this off without Bilbo finding out?”

And for the first time since he’d come up with his clever plan, Kili looked unsure. And of course…very frightened.

  


* * *

  


When their Uncle married Bilbo, Fili and Kili were the happiest nephews in Erebor. It was largely due to the fact that they genuinely liked Bilbo. He was funny, smart, cuddly, and loved Uncle Thorin so visibly, seeing them together was enough to make even the stoniest dwarf sigh with envy.

Bilbo had confronted a _dragon_ for them, had defended Thorin from Azog _twice_ , had saved all of their lives countless times during the quest, and had risked his neck stealing the Arkenstone to snap them out of the gold sickness. There was no one quite like Bilbo in all of Arda, and for this and other things, Fili and Kili loved him about as much as they feared him. Which was a lot.

“Kili, lad.”

Kili’s eyes went wide. “Uncle Bilbo,” he said, turning around slowly. “You look lovely today. Your hair shines like the goldenest uh, gold in the treasury. Your eyes–”

“What time is your lesson with Balin?” Bilbo interrupted. “You do remember you’re with Dwalin this afternoon? It’s going on ten, I would have thought you’d be hitting the books right about now. Oh. Don’t forget dinner with your mother. She told me to tell you to tell Fili to wear a clean shirt and I very much agree.”

Kili nodded emphatically. He _had_ forgotten about afternoon training and dinner with his mother. It was uncanny how Bilbo knew all the ways in which Kili could potentially screw something up. “Right. Um. Guess I should be getting to Balin’s,” he agreed reluctantly.

But Bilbo frowned. “Are you alright, Kili? Are you not feeling well?” He reached out and put a hand on Kili’s forehead. “You’re a little warm, though dwarrow tend to run hot anyway. Hmm. Have you got a headache?”

Never one to pass up an opportunity, Kili nodded and then made a production of flinching. “It hurts a lot,” he moaned. “I think I’ll be alright though. Don’t worry about me, Bilbo, I’ll manage–”

Bilbo sighed. “That was the worst attempt at skiving I’ve ever seen. Go to lessons now, Kili.”

Sulkily, he turned to leave, never once thinking of disobeying, when Bilbo caught his arm and peered up at him affectionately. “You’re alright, though?”

Kili nodded and wrapped Bilbo in a hug, resting his chin on top of the hobbit’s curly head. “Yeah,” he said morosely. “I just don’t care much for lessons. It’s so boring, except for when our ancestors made off with elvish things and defeated other clans in battle. It happened less than you might think, you know. Most of our history is just long political disagreements and beheadings.”

“Oh, I’m shocked, honestly shocked,” Bilbo said, pulling away and patting Kili’s cheek. “You see, in the histories I’ve read, all dwarrow do is run about causing mischief. I’ve seen them do it here as well. Why, I’ve seen  _you_  make trouble more than most, even. So don’t think I won’t find out why you were lurking in front of this pantry. Because I will find out, Kili lad. Bet on it.”  

Before Kili could stutter out a denial, the little hobbit turned on his heel and set off in the opposite direction. Kili groaned and ambled slowly toward Balin’s office, wondering how he was going to tell the others that Bilbo was already on to them. They couldn’t blame him though…after all, who could match wits with this particular hobbit and win?

A dragon, that’s who. But then Bilbo had won that one in the end, hadn’t he? Kili was done for.

  


* * *

  


“Right,” he blew out a big breath. “We’ll just have to do it tomorrow morning.”

“So soon!” exclaimed Gimli. “We don’t have all the specifics sorted!”

Fili shrugged one shoulder. “There’s nothing doing,” he agreed with his brother. “If Bilbo already suspects it won’t be a day or two until he knows. It has to be soon, and tomorrow is the best time for it. The cooks have the morning off for Thorin’s hunting party.”

Gimli nodded reluctantly. Then he cringed. “Kili–” he paused. “Are you sure we should do this? If we’re caught, Bilbo won’t just be furious–”

“He’ll go easy, Gimmers, he’s a good sort.”

“Yes, but what if he’s…” Gimli lowered his voice.“ _Disappointed?”_

Fili and Kili hissed. “Cor! Shut up!” they groaned.

Kili jostled Gimli roughly. “Do you tell a dwarf on the eve of battle that they’re probably going to die–”

“Brutally by an elf’s hands!” added Fili.

“–brutally by an elf’s hands?” Kili agreed, though he silently apologized to Tauriel. “Because that’s the equivalent of what you just said!”

“I know!” Gimli just about sobbed. “But Cousin Bilbo makes marmalade tarts for me. The little ones with the sugar sprinkled on top. I’m the only dwarf in Erebor who likes them. And he makes them _special_ for me. Every time!” And now he really looked like he was going to cry.

Fili sniffled too. “Made me slippers for Yule,” he said. “And you know how he feels about shoes.”

Gimli began to wail.

“Alright, alright!” Kili shushed them. “Look. What if we only took…fourteen of the barrels?”

“How is that better than sixteen?”

Kili thought about this. “It’s not. We might as well take the lot.” He sighed. “No. Wait. I’ve got it! What do hobbits like the most?”

Gimli and Fili looked at each other. “Flowers?” Fili said.

“Food?” tried Gimli.

“Being kind and cuddly?”

Gimli’s eyes looked dangerously wet again.

“No! No. Hobbits,” Kili told them excitedly, “like _good cheer_.”

“And?”

“And what if we shared the ale? Shared, oh, five or six barrels with everyone in Erebor! They’d be in such good spirits, Bilbo would have to be happy too. And there would probably be dancing. Hobbits love dancing!”

“This idea has merit,” Gimli nodded. “And that leaves ten for practice so I can beat Gár at rounds!”

“See? It’s perfect!” Kili said. “Now, first thing’s first…Bombur.”

  


* * *

  


“Your nephews are up to something,” Bilbo said, tying off the end of Thorin’s braid. “I caught Kili looking very suspicious by the kitchens.”

“Maybe he was hungry,” Thorin offered, turning his head to look up at his hobbit. “He tends to look shifty when he’s after sweets.”

Bilbo grinned. He leaned down and kissed Thorin softly.

“What was that for?” Thorin asked, smiling.

Bilbo stood straight and lifted his chin. “Nothing at all. Turn back around, I’m not finished.”

His husband obliged, though his smile was reflected in the mirror. Bilbo looked serene as he said, “it wasn’t hunger. At least I hope it wasn’t…I’ll have to feed him later. No. He’s up to something. I’m not fooled for a moment.”

“You never are,” the king agreed.

“So long as it’s not a disturbance meant for the Spring Rites, I suppose I could let them get up to their mischief,” said Bilbo. “Kili is bored in Balin’s lessons, and therefore unhappy, and Fili is unhappy that Kili is unhappy, and Gimli just wants to beat Gár at the rounds.”

Thorin could not help himself and turned around again to see his hobbit. “But how do you know all of this?” he asked, shocked.

Thorin hadn’t had any idea about Kili being miserable. Or this business with Gár son of Nár. And Gimli was not yet old enough for the heavy drinking in the rounds. Was he? 

Bilbo gently parted his hair and continued on with a new braid.

“Hobbits,” he began. “Are incorrigible busybodies. They must know everything about everyone, from their health to the status of their pantry to the rate of growth of their tomatoes, to the preferred number of  buttons on their best waistcoat…and so on, and so forth. It’s what we do, Thorin. But also.” Bilbo bit his lip, carding his fingers through a section of Thorin’s hair. “They’re our good boys, aren’t they? Our job is to keep them safe and happy.”

It was said very matter-of-fact and Thorin took his head away from Bilbo’s gentle hands and gathered him up in an embrace. “We haven’t the time!” Bilbo laughed. “Your poor hair’s not done.”

“I have time enough to kiss you once.” He kissed Bilbo softly and briefly. “Twice,” he said, and kissed him again. “Thrice,” Thorin murmured, and that third time took quite a while to end.

  


* * *

  


“Sorry sorry!” Fili said, rushing in with Kili hot on his heels.

Dís sat at the head of the table, looking unruffled. Bilbo smiled at them from beside her, and Thorin merely grumbled and started to serve himself and his husband.

“Your uncle was waiting, boys. Mahal forbid you ever be punctual,” admonished Dís. She eyed her eldest. “I see your shirt is clean, Fili.”

Fili looked down distractedly. “Oh, oh yes,” he stuttered, sitting on her other side. Kili nodded and grinned at everyone.

“We ran late training, amad,” Kili explained. “Fili yielded twice! He’s getting slower as he ages.”

Fili threw a spoon at his brother, which prompted Dís and Bilbo to sigh, sharing woeful expressions.

“And were Balin’s lessons more stimulating today, Kili?” asked Bilbo. “I do hope your headache went away.”

Kili nodded. “I’m much better, uncle. Balin’s lessons haven’t improved though.”

“What’s this?” Dís inquired, but Kili did not immediately answer.

He did not want to complain to his mother, who was always very busy and often anxious for Fili and Kili for no good reason, nor give her more cause to worry just because he hated his lessons. But before he could brush it off, Bilbo spoke up.

“Kili is struggling with the histories,” he explained. “It’s boring him, and he is so very unhappy when he’s bored, as we well know. I rather think he knows enough of them to be getting on with, but Balin insists….”

“Balin is right to assume the histories are important to our people,” said Thorin. “And to every son of Durin, doubly so.”

Kili looked down at his plate uncomfortably. “Agreed,” Bilbo replied. “But perhaps there is another way to teach Kili without the use of droning lectures and dusty old books.”

Dís’ head shot up, and she grinned at Bilbo. “Did you say _dusty old books?_ ” she laughed teasingly. “Kili must be terribly unhappy to have you champion him so passionately. Decrying your love of those dusty old books is a mighty sacrifice indeed.”

Bilbo shrugged sheepishly. “It’s not for everyone, book-learning,” he said. “Kili is a very intelligent young dwarf–”

Fili coughed.

“–and he just so happens to learn differently than others. How fast did he take to the bow, I wonder?”

Dís looked surprised. “Very quickly. Quickest in Dwalin’s class. And he’s a fair hand with the sword as well. Didn’t take him more than three months to best his peers.”

Kili’s face was bright red at this parental boasting, but Fili was smiling, delighted that his brother was so well thought of. Kili himself was flattered, but he had never had grand delusions of being smarter than the average dwarf, and certainly no one had tried to convince him otherwise. Neither was he modest. His accomplishments were great for a dwarf his age. Nowhere near Uncle Thorin but….

“–propose to Balin to change his lessons to something more interactive. It’s clear that Kili learns by doing. It’s a useful way to go about things, really. I quite envy him,” Bilbo was saying.

“Agreed,” Dís nodded, turning to Kili. “For now, we will temporarily replace Balin’s lessons with metalworks. You can join Gimli’s lessons.”

Kili’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he gasped. “You’d trust me in the forges?”

“You’re old enough now to avoid burning your beard off, I think,” Dís confirmed. “Though I want to hear of your progress _weekly_ , Kili. And I should have let you before, I’m sorry. Bilbo only just reminded me that you might want to master a craft now that Gimli has also chosen to do so.”

Kili grinned from ear to ear. “I’ve always wanted to, amad. Thank you! I won’t disappoint.”

“We know you won’t,” Thorin said, smiling approvingly. This made Kili rather embarrassed, and he looked away; undeniably touched. “How goes the plans for Spring Rites, husband?” Thorin changed the subject deftly.

As Bilbo sighed and listed all the calamities that had fallen upon his preparations so far, Fili nudged Kili with his boot and gave him a look. Now Kili felt ten times more guilty than before.

Bilbo had fought for him just now, and how had Kili repaid him? By lying. Straight out, right when they arrived, even! For they had not run late with Dwalin, as they had said. He, Fili, and Gimli had been chatting up Bombur in order to snatch the keys to the pantry.

The keys which were now sitting very heavily in Kili’s pocket.

Fili’s look made him rethink their plan, but really…the die had already been cast. Returning the keys would only unveil their intentions to their uncles and their mother, which would result in a scolding and many disappointed sighs. Kili shuddered. He hated those sighs.

He supposed he could drop the keys in the kitchen and wait for them to be found. But that seemed cowardly, and what if Bombur didn’t find them? What if the keys got lost? Then they’d really be in soapy bubble.

Their original plan still had merit, though. Kili was being genuine when he said he wanted to share the ale and spread good cheer. In fact, he’d warmed to that idea considerably, and couldn’t imagine selfishly hoarding the ale at all now. After all, what fun was drinking with only two when you could drink with hundreds?

Well, perhaps the barrels wouldn’t slake the thirst of hundreds of dwarrows, but twenty of them was a rousing good party anyway.

“No,” Thorin was saying, his voice louder than usual. It broke Kili out of his contemplations. “We already appease him enough.”

Bilbo looked unimpressed with Thorin’s growling. “Wouldn’t it be better to let him have his petty jabs, Thorin? Thranduil may not like our wine, our food, or our cushions, apparently, but if he provides his own and we let him without any fuss– he will know that we find his antics childish, and perhaps desist.”

“You give him too much credit, and we already accommodate him,” Thorin grumbled. “We already stock his elvish swill. Now you say he wants green food. What will be next? Our gems? Our kingdom? Our consort? Never.”

Bilbo laughed. “Don’t be funny,” he said. “I’m frustrated with you!”

“Our innocence? Our beards? Our breakfast. First and second!” Thorin grinned as his hobbit now dissolved into silly laughter, suggesting more and more horrible things Thranduil might want in exchange for his presence in Erebor. They were soon turned toward each other, giggling and talking softly.

Dís rolled her eyes and looked to her sons, writing Thorin and Bilbo off for the night.

“Watching them is sickening, but that reminds me, Fili,” she said. “What do you think of escorting Favin daughter of Pavin to Spring Rites? She’s a lovely thing and you’re now at courting age, and I’d like to see some grandchildren before I die–”

Kili stared gleefully at Fili’s rapidly paling face, and just barely dodged another spoon.

  


* * *

  


“Shh! Quiet!”

“I _am_ being quiet, _you_ be quiet!” Kili nudged Fili out of the way. “Gimmers! _Gimmers!”_

Gimli swung around to glare at his cousin from his post at the end of the hall. He marched back over as Kili said, “Watch both sides of the hall! If you see anyone, hoot once like a–”

“I know what I’m doing!” Gimli cut him off. “Just hurry up already, it’ll be dawn in two hours.”

“Don’t remind me,” Fili muttered as Gimli went back to his station. “It’s not right being up this early. It’s not natural.”

“Stop complaining,” Kili hissed. He took the key out of his pocket and carefully unlocked the door.

The pantry was barren but for a pile of ornate fabrics, a crate of vegetables (“Gross! What’s that doing here?”) and sixteen barrels of beer. They took a moment to congratulate themselves on a job well done, and then made short work of untying a single barrel and easily rolling it down the ramp and toward the door. Once they had one each, they began to push.

At his post, Gimli signaled the all-clear and ran ahead to check the next hall. It was rather quick once the barrels got going, and bar the stairs which needed rope and all three of them to tow it up, they were moving industriously enough that it took only a candlemark to get fourteen of them into Gimli’s rooms. It was the last trip that proved disastrous, of course.

Fili and Kili, who had always had a weakness for healthy competition, had decided to race their barrels against each other. Kili was winning as they came up to the last turn, when Fili dirtily attempted to trip him up. But his own trick cost him, and his barrel rolled out of his control and lurched down the staircase to the next floor.

With an unholy racket, the barrel crashed and clamoured down the steps. Fili and Kili watched as it hit the bottom and exploded open, the strong smell of alcohol wafting up toward them. After the cacophony, all was terribly silent.

“We’re dead!” Kili squeaked.

“What’ve you done? Oh no!” Gimli ran forward and the three of them stood at the top of the stairs, making guilty faces and unable to decide what to do next.

And that was how the guards found them.

  


* * *

  


Looking skeptical, but greedy enough to risk it, the guard glanced at the empty tankard and eyed the Crown Prince suspiciously. Fili smiled at him.

“Too early to drink,” he said gruffly, and his men nodded and murmured behind him. They were reluctant to refuse outright, though. “We’ll come back later.”

“No!” Kili cried. “No, my good dwarrow.” He put both hands on the guard captain’s shoulders. “Why not take the day off? Have a holiday! It’s on me.”

“Can you do that?” Gimli asked curiously.

“Well, we are princes, I guess,” Fili shrugged, then he lowered his voice. “We can’t let them go about as normal, Gimmers, Bilbo will take one look at them and know what’s happened.”

“Or he’ll smell it first,” Kili mumbled, and even from Gimli’s locked room, the smell of the spilled ale was terribly strong.

“Ahem.” The guards turned to the princes once more, done with their murmured deliberations of Kili’s offer. “Is this a paid holiday?”

Kili gaped. “You’re paid in ale, my excellent dwarf!” he exclaimed. “Free ale. All day. In Gimli’s rooms. And only in Gimli’s rooms, which means that if you want benefit from this free ale _you have to stay here_.”

But the guard captain was clever and knew exactly why they were worried. He looked guilty as he muttered to Kili, “it’s a fine deal, lad, but I have to admit I’m a mite ashamed. The Prince Consort helped deliver my nephew! We named the little tyke after him and everything.”

Gimli sniffled.

“That–” Kili sighed. “Alright. I mean, I understand. But what if we made a proper party of it? Bilbo loves parties!”

“A party?” said one guard. “There’s only ten of us!”

“I’ll go and get the third floor patrol,” said another, and raced off to do so.

Kili groaned.

  


* * *

  


Gimli’s rooms were fit to burst, and they didn’t have enough tankards for every guard in the royal wing, so they would have to share. This prompted a few arguments, but they settled down more or less when reminded of their promise of free drinks.

Kili briefly worried about the Royal guard’s susceptibility to bribery, but was too frazzled to think on it that deeply.

Fili was attempting to line all the dwarrow up in front of the barrels, but dwarrow were not naturals at queuing, and wandered off often.  
Some order was restored once Kili yelled for quiet.

“We will now begin the dispensing of the ale!” he said, wincing when this was met with loud cheers. “The only rule, my friends, is that we keep our little party in my cousin Gimli’s rooms, as this gathering is extremely exclusive, and only Very Important Persons have been invited to attend.”

Many of the guard looked particularly smug at that. “And now!” Fili took up his speech. “The first round!”

Gimli knocked the cork off the barrel and the guard pushed his tankard forward gleefully. Soon the drink was flowing from each barrel, filling up the cups and bellies of the party-goers. Gimli reached to open the last and noticed that one was missing.

“There’s only fifteen!” he said privately to Kili.

Kili smirked. “I’ve saved that one for us. We might as well have a holiday too, don’t you think? You’ve got a lot of drinking to do if you want to catch up to Gàr!”

But though Fili, Kili, and Gimli sat down to practice rounds with every intention of drinking a barrel between them, they were surprised to find themselves properly drunk after only one pint.

The guards hadn’t faired much better. They were rowdy, of course, and in great good spirits, but three had already passed out and Kili hadn’t even seen them go back for more. “Thissls,” Kili slurred. “Really strolng.”

Fili shook his head forcefully. “It doesn’t taste like ale, either,” he said, peering into his tankard. “It’s not got any foam.”

Gimli’s face was bright red, and his eyes were crossed. “I like it. I hardly feel anything at all!” He rose to his feet and swayed, but with a determined scowl, set off to refill his cup.

One of the guards started up a song and the others followed, while two in the corner suddenly broke out into a brawl. “Kili,” said Fili. “I think something’s wrong with this ale.”

“Fili,” said Kili. “We are drunk.”

They managed to follow Gimli to the barrels, albeit woozily, and watched as their cousin took a fortifying breath and gulped down his second pint. Half way through, Gimli collapsed into a dead sleep.

“That can’t be right,” Fili frowned. He looked at the side of the barrel. “It shouldn’t be that strong.”

“It says ale though!” Kili protested, pointing to the stamp, which said:

**-alm  
ALE**

…followed by a bit of elvish nonsense.

“Why would Stonehelm beer have elf writing on their ale?” Fili pondered. “And why are these barrels so dirty?”

He reached out and wiped away the mud caked to the side. “Oh,” said Kili.

**Woodland Realm  
DALE**

“Kili!” Fili exploded. “This is Dale’s postmark, it doesn’t say it’s _ale!”_

“How was I supposed to know?” Kili cried. “And tell me that didn’t look like Stonehelm Ale!”

“Helm is spelled H-E-L-M, you idiot!”

Kili moaned. “But what have we been drinking then? Poison from the elves? How can we know? Can anyone read elvish?”

“I can,” said Bilbo, standing at the entrance to Gimli’s rooms with his arms crossed. The merrymaking of the drunken guards had gone abruptly silent at his entrance. “And it says Dorwinion Wine, which is strong enough to fell even the most hardy of elves, and most assuredly any dwarf even after just one cup.“

Another guard unceremoniously toppled to the floor, and Bilbo shot Fili and Kili a look that promised pain. They gulped.

  


* * *

  


After Bilbo had kicked the party out, setting them free to grab their fallen fellows and drunkenly parade out of the wing, he did not immediately lecture Fili and Kili as they would have thought. Instead, he went straight to poor Gimli and began to fuss.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, having roused Gimli with a few gentle nudges. “Up we go.”

He stood the dwarf up, Fili reaching out to steady them, and helped him to the toilets. It was just in time too; all that moving had disagreed with Gimli, and he soon began to throw up wretchedly, looking pale and drunk and very fragile.

“It’s obvious he’s playing it up,” Kili muttered, glaring at Gimli crossly.

It was not obvious to Bilbo, or perhaps Bilbo just didn’t care. For every pitiful moan Gimli made, Bilbo only cooed louder, gently moving his beard out of the way and murmuring soothing nonsense.

“We’re in so much trouble,” Fili said, looking at the scene with envy.

Bilbo’s fussing could either be very nice or very scary. They’d lucked out this time, and Gimli (the rogue) was lapping it up. They weren’t home free though, shouting was definitely in their future. Or worse – _disappointment_.

“Bilbo, we’re sorry!” Kili begged, hoping to head off their punishment. “We only wanted to have a party, you know? With dancing, and drinking, and good cheer!”

“Hmm,” said Bilbo. “Let’s get you to bed, Gimli.”

He enlisted Fili and Kili’s strength in maneuvering Gimli’s bulk from the toilets. He had just slid under the duvet, (whimpering all the while), when Nela ran through the door.

“Amad!” Gimli cried weakly, holding out a hand for her. Kili rolled his eyes.

“He’ll need water and rest, Nela. I’m so sorry. I knew the boys were up to something,” Bilbo fretted.

Nela patted him on the hand and took her place beside Gimli. “It’s alright, dear,” she said, though she shot Fili and Kili a glare. “Just take care of yours. They look a little unsteady.”

Kili abruptly realized he had been swaying from side to side. Bilbo stood and motioned to them sternly. “You two,” he said. “Come.”

They had no choice but to follow. Disobeying now would be the worst (and last) thing they did.

  


* * *

  


Dís was waiting for them in their rooms. Her hands were on her hips, and her brow was scrunched in a furious scowl. She was spitting mad. “I have forty guards carousing in the lower levels,” she seethed. “All of them stone drunk. What have you to say for yourselves?”

Eyes wide, Kili looked to his brother. “Carousing?” he repeated. “That sounds bad.”

“Yes,” Dís affirmed sarcastically. “Dwalin is herding them back into the barracks, but he’s not happy, Fili, Kili! And I’m not happy either!”

No one was happy at all, it seemed. “Where’s Uncle Thorin?” Fili asked. He figured they might as well complete this miserable meeting with Thorin’s normal amount of sullen disapproval.

“He’s–”

“Thranduil’s wine?!” came a shout from the next room that sounded suspiciously like Uncle Thorin. It was followed by some very loud cackling.

“He’s busy,” Bilbo said placidly, skillfully ignoring the noise. “Now, though mischievous dwarflings thieving a barrel of wine isn’t too outlandish, I’m puzzled as to why you would need sixteen of them.”

“Or did you just mean to get the morning guards roaring drunk for a good laugh?” asked Dís waspishly. “If you did, let me inform you boys–  _no one is laughing.”_

And of course, the laughter from the next room rang out again. Bilbo sighed and Dís motioned that she would take care of it. She stomped out the door and slammed it behind her. Immediately there was muffled shouting.

Kili swallowed, his mouth dry, and turned back to Bilbo sheepishly. His head was pounding, and he felt sick and sorry. When he glanced at his brother, he saw that Fili didn’t look much better.

“We wanted to help Gimli practice for the rounds,” Kili explained sulkily. “Gàr wins every Midwinter and Spring. We wanted to see a Durin beat him finally, Bilbo! Surely you can understand, it’s a matter of family honour!”

Fili shushed him. “You’re making it worse,” he hissed, rubbing his temples. “We also just wanted ale, uh…wine. Because we’re…irresponsible?” He cringed.

“We _are_ sorry, Bilbo, truly,” Fili concluded his plea for mercy. “We knew it was a stupid idea but we did it anyway.”

Kili’s mouth dropped open. “It wasn’t a stupid idea, it was very clever!” he sputtered, offended.

“So it was your idea, was it?” Bilbo said to Kili. “That explains it. Alright, I’ve heard enough. Both of you go wash your face and clean your teeth. Then change and get right into bed. I’ll run to Oin for a tincture for that headache. Go on.”

Bilbo did not leave room for argument, so Fili and Kili slunk toward the toilets. “Think we’ll be cleaning dishes until summer?” Kili speculated morosely.

“Winter, probably,” Fili sighed. “He gave us that look, Kee.”

“Like we’d let him down,” Kili nodded. “I feel like rubbish now.”

They set about cleaning themselves up, and with tired eyes and a sore head they burrowed into their beds. Bilbo came into Fili’s room first and made him drink Oin’s medicine and three glasses of water. “Sleep well, Fili,” he said.

“Did the drunken guards cause any damage?” Fili asked before Bilbo could leave.

“Oh, no more than usual,” he answered, and smiled at Fili gently.

He visited Kili next with the same remedies, but this time he sat on the side of Kili’s bed. “Kili,” said the hobbit. “Why did you not come to us sooner about Balin’s lessons?”

Kili blinked. “Well,” he started. “Amad is always busy, and you have to deal with elves and dignitaries and all that political bunk, and Uncle Thorin is always grumpy except when he’s with you, and it just seemed so stupid to complain about them, especially because the histories are important.”

Bilbo hummed. “But you were unhappy,” he pointed out.

“A little,” he shrugged. “Maybe a lot. It’s just so boring, Bilbo, and Fili gets to do all the exciting things, like visit Bard and meet with the Guild Masters. Even Gimli is helping in the treasury! I’m the only one not doing something useful!”

“I don’t know about that, Kili lad,” Bilbo said softly. “I thought you were teaching Dwalin’s new younglings their archery? And didn’t you meet with Prince Legolas all by yourself last week? I dare say Fili or Gimli wouldn’t have managed a civil conversation! Legolas even mentioned to me that he prefers you over Thorin. Though…that might not be as much of a compliment as one might think.”

Bilbo shook his head. “In any case, if anything is ever troubling you, please come to us, Kili. We will listen and we will help. You have the word of a hobbit, and we swear on supper and pipe weed, so you know we mean business.”

Kili grinned, twisting his hands in his duvet. His headache was gone now, and some of his heartache was too. “Okay, Bilbo.”

“Get some sleep.”

Bilbo made for the door but was stopped by Kili’s tentative call. “Bilbo,” he said, peering at his uncle with puppyish eyes. “Does this mean we’re not going to be punished?”

The hobbit smiled. “Eru, no,” he laughed. “All three of you will be on kitchen duty at least until autumn.”

He left Kili to mutter grumpily into his bedding. Cursing himself, the guards, and elvish wine, Kili fell asleep dreading all those dirty dishes, but with a lighter heart than yesterday.

  


* * *

  


**CODA**

With his arms deep in a basin of dirty dishwater, Kili could not say he was enjoying the beginning of Spring Rites. Fili dropped another load of dishes next to him, sweating in the heat of the bustling kitchens. The festivities would properly start in an hour, yet as punishment, the boys could not attend.

“Gimli was supposed to be back ten minutes ago,” Kili sulked. “These dishes need drying!”

“Don’t look at me,” Fili protested. “My back hurts from lugging all these plates to you! And there’s more where that came from.”

“Did you use soap, Kili?” Bilbo said, popping up from out of nowhere. He looked unfairly unruffled in the hot confines of the kitchen, and none of the cooks or servers bumped into him like they did to Kili. Before he could defend his dishwashing abilities, Bilbo waved a hand. “Never mind that, come along. You have an hour to get cleaned up.”

Fili and Kili gaped, hardly daring to hope. “You mean we can go to the Rites?” cried Fili.

Bilbo gave them a sly smile. “Gimli’s already started without you. Honestly, boys, I expected you to try and appeal to me earlier than this! But you’ve got time enough to change and be on your way. Oh. And your mother told your uncle to tell me to tell you to wear clean shirts.”

Kili hugged Bilbo quickly, careful not to get him with his wet hands. “You’re amazing Bilbo, you’re perfect. Your eyes–”

“Yes, yes, off with you.”

The feast that night was enormous fun, and even better when Fili and Kili learned that Bilbo had petitioned their mother to end their punishment early. She agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. Uncle Thorin just thought they shouldn’t have been punished in the first place.

“Did us a service, really,” said Thorin. “Irritating that leaf-eater might make him less likely to visit, and that’s something all of Erebor should aspire to.”

Bilbo was not impressed.

In any case, they’d been let off the hook, and so filled with relief were they, that the Spring Rites that year were some of the best they’d ever had. There were games in the morning and feasting and drinking for lunch, then games and songs in the afternoon and feasting for dinner. And after that, well– that was when they started the rounds.

Fili and Kili excitedly joined the crowd surrounding four tables in the middle of the hall. There were two competitors at each, facing each other with a flagon of ale apiece. Beside them there was a large barrel of beer.

The competitors made angry faces at each other as Bofur called for the crowd’s attention. “And now…the Springtime Ale Rounds!”

Everyone cheered and stomped their feet, and Bofur waited for quiet and then introduced the first table. “At table one we have Môra daughter of Lira, versus Rorin son of Forin!”

He went table by table, the families of the contestants cheering for their kin wildly. Gár sat at table three, facing a nervous dwarrow by the name of Reni. But it wasn’t until the fourth table and Bofur’s excited introduction that Fili and Kili took notice of who was sitting there.

“–and lastly, Gimli son of Gloin, versus Hannard son of Gannard!”

“What!” shouted Fili. “Gimli!”

Gimli waved at the boys, his round face alive with excitement. “Oh, he’ll be slaughtered,” Kili moaned.

But the first elimination round did not send Gimli off with his tail between his legs. Kili and Fili gaped as their cousin handily beat his opponent, before going on to beat the next one in the semi-finals. Then, as these things often went, it was just Gimli and Gár.

“But how is he doing it!” Kili exclaimed. “He’s never drunk so much ale in his life!”

Fili had no answer, and didn’t much care otherwise. He was too busy cheering his cousin on.

“The last round, my good dwarrow! Who will take this season’s Round Crown? Reining champion Gár? Or newcomer Gimli? Place your bets now.”

Fili caught sight of Nori writing wagers down in his book, and Dori across the hall looking disapproving. At the same table, Bilbo and Thorin watched the game with cheerful smiles. Bilbo was practically sitting on Thorin’s lap, and they often turned to each other and gently bumped noses. Dís sat beside them looking long-suffering.

“And now!” Bofur shouted. “The face-off!”

Gimli and Gár growled and scowled at each other, both rather red in the face but sober enough. They chugged the first flagon, then slammed it upside down to riotous cheers. This continued for three more rounds, and then Gár began to hiccup and couldn’t seem to stop. Gimli had trouble keeping his eyes open, but managed the next tankard all the same. It was the fifth that did them in, the loser being the first to pass out.

It was Gár.

Fili and Kili threw their hands in the air, hooting and hollering and gathering their cousin up and onto their shoulders. They cheered Gimli as Gár remained dead asleep at his table, and Gimli, at that moment, looked like the happiest dwarf in Erebor.

When they’d returned to the head table, where Gloin sat flushed with pride and Dís was beaming smugly, Kili couldn’t keep himself from asking how he had done it.

“But aren’t you sloshed?”

Gimli grinned at him, his cheeks bulging like two red apples. “Terribly,” he said.

“How’d you practice enough to beat him in two weeks, Gimmers?” Fili asked. “It doesn’t seem possible!”

“It is!” Gimli told them. Then he glanced slyly at Bilbo.

Fili and Kili turned and gaped at their uncle.

Rather serenely, Bilbo patted his mouth with his handkerchief and said, “hobbits have drinking games too, you know. The ale you dwarrow drink is strong, but nothing on Green Dragon lager. Indeed, we hobbits know how to drink,” he raised an eyebrow and side-eyed Fili and Kili. “And we know how to drink and win.”

He would say nothing more about it, and when Fili and Kili cornered Gimli he seemed reluctant to explain as well.

“Just tell us one thing,” said Fili. “Was it hobbit magic?”

“Mostly I just ate a lot of bread,” Gimli shrugged. “But there was definitely some magic involved too.”

Fili and Kili gazed at their uncle in awe. Then they agreed that the existence of hobbit magic wasn’t all that surprising, given Bilbo’s tendency to do miraculous things. And if they suggested to others in Erebor and elsewhere, that the Prince Consort was perhaps more than a little hobbit from the Shire, they would not be wrong, and no one would think them liars.


End file.
